And let me guess. You dont listen to your messages or check your mailbox when you wake up. She produced a red envelope from her pocket, held it between two gloved fingers. Wanna guess who sent this?
Something black and oily slid through his veins. He paused before reaching out. Is it the same as the others?
Not quite. At last the nerves jittered through. This ones darker, more malevolent.
The light in the alley was bad. Jacob squinted at the red-lettered message inside. Looks like he wrote it with his left hand.
It looks like he wrote it with his left foot, but the prints consistent with the other cards. Ill have that verified tomorrow, she promised at his quick glance. I still have friends in the crime lab.
I thought the crime lab was your exs territory. Jacob jockeyed for a clearer view of the words. Hows Connor doing these days? Living fat on the Hanson family money?
Im not going there with you. Romana let her hood fall back, slid her gaze down the alley and breathed out. Her expression softened as her mental focus shifted. I believed him when he said he could make his own way in life without his family. I know he believed it.
Instead, he took bribes, cut deals and lied to you.
Her smile was fast and false. Thanks for the emotional lift, Knight. I needed it after that card. She watched him for a moment, before arching a shrewd eyebrow. Do you want me to tell you what it says?
If you can, youve got Supermans vision.
What I have is an excellent memory. I send you a Christmas greeting, Romana Grey, she quoted. A kiss for you, for the murderer you saved. It is the Kiss of Death. Nice, huh? She bumped his tire with the heel of her boot. Theres a sprig of mistletoe on the front. Cant imagine what he came up with for you. Its a mass-marketed card. I checked it out first thing. Theyre sold all over the country, same as the other five he sent, except this time I have a creepy feeling Critch delivered it himself.
Delivered it where?
Into my purse. Dont say it, she warned at his sharp look. You shop in crowded stores, you get jostled. You open your purse for credit cards, parking money, donation drums.
Hands slip inside, remove wallets.
Were talking about something that was added not subtracted.
You were a cop, Romana.
And now I teach criminology. Fine, I should have noticed, but, ah, well, I didnt. Im human, Jacob. Move forward.
Not the faintest flicker of annoyance marred her pleasant expression, and her tone was equally unruffled.
She could act, all right. She was also stubborn. And bold as hell.
Ill check my mailbox. He handed the card back. Obviously you know Critch has been out on parole for the past two days.
Mmm. Lovely thought, isnt it? Although Ive also been told he mellowed substantially after the first few years inside, so much so that he wrote a novelette about his childhood in South America. His daddy mapped waterways along the Amazon. My guess is he did a lot more than that, but then Im jaded from my brief stint on the force. She nodded forward. Your mailbox is at the front door, right?
His lips twitched into a smile. Are you curious to see if my threats nastier than yours?
Not especially. Im thinking your lobby has to be warmer than this alley. Plus I love old theaters. She scanned the worn brick facade, relaxed a little more. My fathers a huge fan of 1920s architecture. He knows the woman who owns this place. Her husband made her promise not to sell the building or allow it to be demolished after he died. I think he planned to haunt it-dont know if that worked out for him or not- but she kept her word, which is why you and three other people get to live here. She left the stage, audience area and lobby intact and still found a way to make the place pay its own taxes. End of local history lesson. She moved past him to the rear door. Why are you staring at me, Jacob? Teachers lecture out of habit. I could tell you all sorts of things about the house my parents bought in Boston.
His stare became a headshake. Do you ever run down?
Depends on the company. My cousin Fitz says I dont talk enough.
Would that be Irish-born Anna Fitzgerald with the curly red hair, who insists that unpaid-for shop items simply follow her home?
Romana grinned. Followed. Past tense, Detective. Shes my second cousin on my mothers side, Ive known her forever and, all bias aside, I think shes one of the brightest forensic techs in the city. The hospital board was right to give her another chance.
You must have talked long and hard to that board, Romana. Second chances are hard to come by in that arena.
She waited while he opened the rear door, then, with a glance at his profile, preceded him inside. Its going to start again, you know.
I know.
All the gossip and the rumors, the speculation, the accusations.
Ive been through it before, Romana. I know how itll be.
Unless Critch is grandstanding, which is possible given his psychiatric evaluation before the trial. Hes a brooder, but he tends to back down in the face of fear.
Which makes his latest Christmas message to you, what? A slap intended to unnerve? Hes sent you six cards, one for each of the six years he spent in prison. And this last one was delivered less than forty-eight hours after his release.
Youre determined to be pessimistic, arent you? Why dont you Oh, my God, is that fresco original? Captivated by the dark heavenly forces clashing overhead, she swung on her heel. Then she frowned, paused and sniffed. Whos using alkyd paint?
Keep moving, he suggested. Why dont I what?
Hmm? Oh, try and keep a positive thought. Still absorbed, she executed another admiring circle. Words arent weapons in this case, and I find it hard to believe that Critch will want to spend the rest of his life behind bars for killing us. It wont bring his wife back, and if hes smart, which I think he is, hell have realized by now that our lives-and yours in particular-havent been fairy-tale perfect since she died.
Jacob studied her through narrowed eyes. With her guard down and enchanted by her surroundings, he could visualize her quite easily in a storybook setting. Somewhere snowy and nostalgic. Not a princess in a tower-she was too savvy for that role-but in one of those places hed dreamed of as a kid, before reality had stumbled in and revealed the harsh realities of life.
Speaking of which How do you know what my lifes like? You left the force years ago.
She wrested her gaze from the ornate overhead carvings and directed it at him. I know you switched to the night shift after Critchs trial. You prefer to work alone. Your records outstanding, but you dont interact with your fellow officers any more than necessary. You keep to yourself on and off the clock, which includes hardly even talking to your best friend, OKeefe. And word has it youre the only male cop in the city who hasnt flirted with the pretty new dispatcher.
I talked to OKeefe twenty minutes ago. Id say hes still in major lust with you.
She shrugged, unperturbed. Mick OKeefe is a nice guy who happens to be divorced. He likes European cooking-my great grandmothers from Moscow-film noire and helping out with minor home renos for people who would otherwise be in over their heads. Theres no lust involved, and even if there was- she gave his chest a poke -it wouldnt be any of your business. FYI, Knight, theres a woman wearing a pink ball cap and holding a paintbrush waving at you.
Later, Denny. He reached past Romana to open the front door. After you, Professor.
Dont be snotty. But she went first and peered through the metal slats of the box. I see something red in there. Want me to pull it out?
He handed her the key.
A moment later, she was turning the red envelope, a twin to the one shed received, over in her hands. No stamp, she remarked. Probably water-sealed like the others, so I imagine DNAs out. Barely legible scrawl on the back, same mistletoe on the front and-oh, well, but a much more succinct message than mine inside.
Holding the Christmas card open with her gloved fingertips, she turned it so he could read the five words printed there in bold, bleeding red.
Holding the Christmas card open with her gloved fingertips, she turned it so he could read the five words printed there in bold, bleeding red.
YOU DIE NEXT, JACOB KNIGHT!
Chapter Two
Be grateful he didnt send you a kiss, Romana said thirty minutes later. She ran her gaze over the face of a building that was as close to a safety hazard as city bylaws permitted. Tilting her head, she read the sign. Taft House. I hope it wasnt named for President Taft.
Aaron Taft. Jacob angled his vehicle into a No Parking zone and cut the engine. Aaron was a rich man with a wayward son. He believed the Y chromosome was responsible for all criminal tendencies. At Romanas skeptical sideways look, he reached over to tug up the zipper of her white coat. Taft was born in 1871 and maintained the unshakeable belief that women were incapable of committing crimes. This house is strictly for men. Dont expect pretty.
All I want to do is get in, see Critch and get out before this minor snowfall turns into a blizzard. You should flash your police lights, she added as he adjusted his shoulder holster. Its procedure.
What, are you afraid Ill get a ticket if I dont identify myself?
Well, yeah, or get vandalized.
You academic types worry too much.
You homicide types take too much for granted. Its your vehicle, Knight, but Id flash.
On the street, snow gusted over them in wind-whipped sheets. Romana brushed her hair back and drew her hood up. The faux fur tickled her cheeks; hardening snow pellets stung them. She let Jacob propel her through the crooked front door.
There wasnt much to greet them: bare linoleum floors, gray-green walls and the tattered remains of a rush welcome mat. Someone, probably a well-meaning social worker, had draped a stingy string of garland over the entrance to the communal living area, and an already dry Christmas tree stood, poorly decorated, in the corner.
Home sweet home. Romana lowered her hood and loosened her coat. At least its warm. She caught Jacobs stare and felt a swell of impatience. If my mascaras smudged, Knight, tell me. Id rather hear about it than walk around looking like a Charles Dickens ghost.